


Mornings Like This

by ilovemyalpaca



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mild Language, smut if you squint, vague depictions of stiles doing things to himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:26:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovemyalpaca/pseuds/ilovemyalpaca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stiles loves mornings like this. The sun is filtering in through his window, birds are singing outside, and he has nothing to do today." Except nothing ever goes the way it's supposed to anymore. Cue sexy, lurking werewolf that doesn't knock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mornings Like This

**Author's Note:**

> Because this is what happens when I write at 7 am. Originally posted Aug 22, 2012 to [livejournal.com](http://ilovemyalpaca.livejournal.com/6872.html).

Stiles loves mornings like this. The sun is filtering in through his window, birds are singing outside, and he has nothing to do today. He’s woken up on his own, wisps of a dream still lingering and an insistent throb between his legs. Nothing is going to go wrong today. Nope, this is the perfect kind of lazy Saturday morning.

He lets his hand slide down his bare stomach, eyes still closed tight, and scratches his nails through the trail of hair leading downward. If Stiles tries hard enough, he can still see flashes of his dream and those are enough to fuel his desire, hand slipping under his boxers. It’s quick work, a couple strokes with a thumb over the head and he’s coming, his semen coating his hand and the front of his underwear. He was going to do laundry today anyway. Slipping the soiled garment off and cleaning himself with them, he tosses them toward the hamper and stretched luxuriously.

When he’s resting back against his pillows, he lets himself think about the fact that tan skin smattered with coarse hair has somehow replaced smooth porcelain and bouncy red curls in those dreams. It’s not a new fact, nor a surprising one. The subject matter of his wet dreams is hardly the weirdest thing he’s come to accept and so, nothing to write home about. Instead, he just enjoys it, enjoys the ebbing endorphins and the absolute peace of his bedroom for the time being.

And this is how Derek Hale finds him less than a minute later; blissed out from his orgasm, lounging a bit lazily, and naked. It goes without saying that he was no longer two of those as soon as he saw the lurking wolf.

“Jesus fuck! Do you ever make any noise?” Stiles is scrambling for his blanket, eyes wide as he tries to cover himself up. He wonders if Derek knows what he was doing or if he even is thinking about the fact that he’s naked because, hello, very much naked here, or if he could have him arrested for creeping but considering Scott and he have already done that once, it’s probably not a good idea to shoot for two. And because he doesn’t do well with silence and his mouth is never quiet when his brain is working this fast which is pretty much all the time, Stiles does what he does best and begins to babble.

“You know, I should have known better. I seem to forget when I wake up that this crazy life I’m a part of now doesn’t have weekends or vacation so no, I don’t get a day to just do laundry or relax or even jerk off without a werewolf being here and aware of it or at the very least interrupting it because how many times has Scott walked in on something awkward? I mean, I’m me. Do any of you really expect different? I still have-“

“It smells like sex.”

Stiles is pretty sure he’s lost his mind. “Well… yeah. I’m a teenage boy. As many times as you’ve been in here, you’ve never noticed the constant stench of sweat and cum?”

This earns him a death glare, only a number two on the scale of terrifying because Derek is distracted.

“Worse than normal. It’s like… everywhere. All over you.”

Stiles has the decency to blush here, embarrassment painting his features. He clears his throat and shoots the wolf a nervous smile, hands fluttering in the air and then smoothing the blanket down over his legs. He can never really be still and he hasn’t had Adderall today so it’s not technically his fault if he’s moving more than normal.

Derek seems to pick up on his non-explanation because the death glare intensifies (number six, he catalogues) and he turns toward the computer.

“We’re doing research today. You might want to put some pants on.”

And he sits, booting up the laptop with his back turned. Stiles lets out a squeak (no, not a squeak. A very manly noise of discontent) and reached for the nearest pair of jeans, managing to wiggle into them under the comforter and then he stands.

“I’m going to just… Yeah.” And he runs from the room. He hears Derek call out behind him.

“Bring some water.” Stiles just knows this is going to be a long day.


End file.
